


Bed & Breakfast

by gaialux



Category: Shawshank Redemption - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is enough for me to wake up each morning and see the golden sunrise shining through my window. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed & Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewhiterose3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiterose3/gifts).



> This is movie-verse but I've attempted to keep the book-verse voice of Red throughout (but sounding like Morgan Freeman because, well...). Obviously I'm nowhere near as talented a writer as King, but I hope there's a thin line of semblance somewhere. Written for a wonderful pinchhitter, because you guys rock! I'm not 100% sure if I managed to use your prompt here, and the ending is quite ambiguous, but I hope you like!
> 
> Obviously, The Shawshank Redemption does not belong to me. Written for entertainment, not profit.

When Andy told me about Zihuatanejo I must admit I was hesitant about making the journey. Now that I'm here, I see breaking parole was a choice that has lead to a greater good. I see Andy doing all he told me about, including fixing up his boat and taking her out onto the water. Disappearing for a whole day and coming back with a smile on his face, hair wind-whipped, and a bucket full of fish that he cooks in an open-pit fire while we watch the waves lap at the sand.

It is enough for me to wake up each morning and see the golden sunrise shining through my window. After forty years in prison, anything that is not a stone cold wall is enough. Walking through a house that is  _mine_ , or at least Andy lets it seem as such. Paid for by Randall Stephens whom Andy says will alway provide for everything we could ever need.

After five years on the beach, Andy begins to open his hotel. He starts with a small bed and breakfast and loves it. I see it in his eyes everyday when he comes back from his charter fishing trip with less fish than he could catch on his own, but happy nonetheless.

"We'll expand," Andy says. "Open the biggest hotel in Zihuatanejo."

I don't tell Andy he should never do that, I don't tell him that he's still a wanted man in America — and there's every chance I am, too. Instead I know that Andy can overcome anything with that brilliant mind of his, because he's already proven it time and time again. I nod instead, tell him "yeah", and watch as he is already beginning to design the blue-prints and commission the local builders.

I think that if anyone can turn nineteen years locked into a life of pure freedom, it will be Andy.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, I am drawn to Brooks' letter. It is one of the only posessions I still carry with my from Shawshank, joined by Andy's present from many decades past. One sentence stands out to me the most, and it has become almost smudged by the amount of times I run my finger over the ink.  _Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am_. I think I may be institutionalised, just like Brooks. The sun is warm on my face, the sheets soft under my body, but the back of my mind longs for the shadows and stones. I am envious that Andy seems to never face this, it's as if he can never draw enough freedom into his body. I ask him about it after a seven years of leaving here.

"I was never supposed to be in there," he says. "Why should I feel guilty about anything?"

It's not an answer that helps me. I try again, speaking about myself this time, trying to side-step the words and find a way to express how I feel — something that has never been possible when most of your life has been spent in a world void of emotions.

"You killed a man," Andy says, then pauses as if to allow it to sink in. There's no need; it's a thought that plagues my mind and dreams near constantly. "Then you attoned for that mistake. You have nothing to feel guilty about, either. Not anymore."

Andy leaves then for another charter, something he says could give us enough money to buy whatever our heart's desire. Mine wants freedom. More than that it wants the ability to accept this freedom I've already been given.

 

* * *

 

When the summer comes again it's too hot for many guests. We have three in June and no bookings come July. Andy takes to lying on the sand even in 110°F weather. He tells me he wants to take advantage of everything the earth can give back. We play chess often, with the one fan pointed directly on us. This set is not handmade by Andy, and I find that a little unfortunate; there was something spectacular about him spending his time creating rocks into art.

"Queen can't move that way," Andy says, reaching over and pushing my piece back. I shift my hand away.

"You said it could move anywhere."

"You still can't jump over pieces."

I never have found chess a preferable game to checkers, no matter how much Andy tries to convince me.

 

* * *

 

In August the weather begins to cool, at least for Mexico, but no more guests book. Andy is going stir crazy being trapped on the beach, never having been able to sit still for long. It's my fault he stays near the house, because I still can't go far. I can never escape Shawshank, and I'm not sure if I should even keep trying.

"We're out of soap," Andy says. "You want to come into town?"

He's never asked that before, and I find myself nodding before I think things through. The town isn't safe, despite what Andy tells me. The two of us together could be enough for someone to  _know_. But I tug on my shoes and walk with him, because I am tired of being so afraid. Unlike Brooks, I plan to find a way around the fear. Unlike Brooks, I have Andy.


End file.
